The Many Lives of Peeta Mellark
by Miss Mustang
Summary: One-Shot. There are few people who are blessed with the good fortune of being favored by the gods. And of those who are, it is incredibly rare to find one whom is so esteemed that they had been afforded the gift of numerous lives. It happened so seldom that in all my time as the Grim Reaper, he was the only that I had found. His name was Peeta Mellark.


The Many Lives of Peeta Mellark

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Author's Notes: This little one-shot was inspired, partly by a conversation I was having with Salanderjade about writing Peeta's death into a story and partly by the book "The Book Thief".

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Death. The word itself is so haunted by darkness and sorrow that it is not surprising that humans rarely recognize its beauty or its necessity. They are blinded by pain of the worst kind and lose themselves to melancholy, pity and longing. For the longest time I did not understand this. I did not understand what it meant to suffer from a broken heart and I did not understand why people loathed and feared it so.

I was but a child when my own life was taken from me. My short existence was a sorry one and in death I found a peace and purpose that I had never found while amongst the living. I know now it was because of this that I was apprenticed to become a collector, forever destined to walk the limbo, waiting for the wisps of color to leave their bodies so that I can send them on their way.

It has never been the burden that you might expect it to be. My own soul has not become tainted by the dark mists that loom in the middle ground and my discussions with broken souls rarely pained my heart. But things have changed, my perspective has shifted and I have come to understand love and fears and loathing. So now my own apprentice has taken my place and I am merely waiting for the soul of the human who changed my thinking so that we may leave for the next life as equals.

This particular human is remarkable. There are few people who are blessed with the good fortune of being favoured by the gods. And of those who are, it is incredibly rare to find one whom is so esteemed that they had been afforded the gift of numerous lives. The bequest was saved for those extraordinary, atypical few whose hearts and minds were so good that they should have been born to the clouds adorned with white cloth, halos and wings. It happened so seldom that in all my time as the Grim Reaper, he was the only that I had found.

His name was Peeta Mellark and his soul was golden like the sun.

We first met eighty-nine years ago when he was only a babe. It had been a particularly long and cold winter and the boy had developed a bad case of pneumonia. The healer of the small district where he lived was crying when she left his small house, knowing that her relief wasn't enough and that the infant wouldn't make it through the night. I lingered in his parent's room as they tossed and turned in their sleep, their tired minds haunted by the bassinet in the corner where their youngest slept.

I waited for his soul as it slowly lifted from his tiny body glittering like gold. But it wasn't to be. As slowly as it had lifted, it suddenly returned, drifting back into the body. I was completely confounded as I stared at the breathing boy, his face relaxed, and his body free from the illness that had plagued it. It was the first time I had experienced such a divine occurrence and I was dumbfounded by it. That first life made my quiet heart beat that little bit louder and I began to understand what it was to hope.

Our second meeting was years later. At the age of eleven Peeta already had an intelligent mind, a clever tongue and good heart. And on this day, all three were selflessly working to save the girl he loved. I was amazed at how he shined, the golden rays reflecting on the rain drops of his world when he nobly gave away his second, third and fourth life to another.

Katniss Everdeen was different to him – her soul was silver like the dust that settled over the district, and she burned instead of shimmered. My interest in her was peaked the moment he threw the bread to her, saving the lives of her family. I needed to understand what he saw, what it was about her that made him give her his beautiful heart. So I watched as she picked that dandelion, as she showered her sister with love and as she built up the courage to hunt and trade. I listened to her careful words and understood when she called him the boy with the bread…and I began to understand what it was to love.

Peeta and I met again in a dark cave, in a damned arena. He sparkled like a diamond as he slipped in and out of sleep, his arms rested around the girl too frightened to admit that she was falling for the dying boy. He glowed when they kissed, his soul desperate to hold on to the moment, desperate not to leave her. He fought harder than he had ever done to stay… and she fought to keep him. And as I watched her run towards the cornucopia, my stomach was knotted in pain and I began to understand fear.

The first time Peeta and I talked was in another arena. A foolish action had stopped his heart and my body shook with dread as his soul formed before me. I bowed my head at him in respect and sorrow feeling selfish for having to take him from the world, from the girl whose mind had not yet caught up with her heart. But this seventh life was not to be his last either and he lingered only long enough to tell me so.

"I died?" He asked simply, his eyes focused on his body that another man was now leaned over, desperately breathing life into him

"I'm sorry, it is your time," I said sadly, and for the first time, I meant it.

He smiled gently at me, his blue eyes bright. "I am too, because I'm certain it isn't," he told me as his soul began to shimmer, once again drifting back into his body. I stayed to watch as Katniss recovered from the pain and shock of losing him and I began to realise what it meant to have a broken heart.

Peeta Mellark's eighth life was over within the year. The boy saved the souls of thousands with his quick tongue and the white coats got carried away with his punishment. I watched in disgust as they tortured the boy's soul, tainting the gold with a shiny darkness. And I learned to loathe, to hate the men who carried out their orders without feeling for the kind boy.

"Again?" Peeta questioned with the same smile and bright eyes.

"You are making a habit of it," I noted quietly.

"Am I?" He asked.

I nod silently.

"I'm sorry," he said as he began to shimmer once again.

"No I am," I told him.

He was still chained to the metal board by his wrists, covered in blood when he breathed in this time and I couldn't bring myself leave him in that state. So I watched over him for weeks, suffering in my uselessness, unable to protect him from the evil of the world; and by the time he was rescued I knew what it was to fear death. That was the point of no return for me. I could no longer complete my role without feeling for the poor souls who crossed my path.

The last time we met, was not long after his escape. He wasn't alone this time and the innocent souls were colourful and beautiful like a rainbow. A Primrose held on to his hand and smiled as he spoke to me. And I was shocked to see that she was golden like him.

"I promise this will be the last time," he insisted.

"I'm rather busy as it is," I replied.

His expression softened. "I'm sorry," he apologized gently.

I shake my head slowly. "She needs you to stay."

He smiles and nods. "Always," he whispered and he returns to his body for what would be the very last time. They didn't see each other until the trial and when his hand ripped the pocket from her shoulder and she cried out, begging for death, I knew what it meant to have a broken heart.

I am officially retired now, but I refuse to leave without him. So I watch and wait, lingering in his life as he and Katniss see out their final days with their children and grandchildren. Their love for each other has only grown over the years and their life as a family was a happy one. They are content with their lot and have no fear or loathing of death itself; but both of their hearts break at the thought of being without the other.

So when Katniss Everdeen's silver soul burned into my world two years later; I'm not surprised to see Peeta Mellark's hands full of purple berries.

And I learned what he meant by "always".


End file.
